Hot to the Touch
by lostlikeme
Summary: It's more than an exercise in trust. Sequel to 'The Love Drug'


The two of them are zoned out on Zuko's bed because it was already made. It always is, as if at any given moment his father is going charge in and complain about the wrinkles on the top sheet. It's been weeks or maybe months, and somehow they still haven't had _that_ talk. Every time it comes up, Aang finds a way to duck out of the conversation or Zuko changes the subject. This is another of those times.

"So you're gay, right?" Aang shakes his head, like he's reconsidering how that question squeezed through his brain to mouth filter on a Tuesday afternoon. "You know what, you don't have to answer that."

Zuko fiddles with the lighter, running his thumb over the silver wheel and watching the flame disappear before releasing it. He takes a deep breath and takes a look at the candle in his lap. It's a small cylindrical hunk of wax. When he brings it to his nose he smells gingerbread and pine needles - Christmas is still a month away. He peers at Aang from under his bangs. Is this part supposed to be sexy?

"What if you get hurt?"

"Aren't you basically majoring in fire?" Aang leans back to stretch out on the bed, wiggling his head into Zuko's lap and staring up at him. "You're going to do this for a living one day."

"My major is glassblowing," Zuko reminds him. "And it's not the same."

There's heat in the studio, but not like this. Aang burrows his face into Zuko's shirt, nosing at the navel hidden underneath. He breathes in and sighs with contentment, looking a little like a puppy and a little like an angel.

"I trust you, and you trust me." Aang shrugs once he's sitting up. "It's not even complicated."

Zuko sucks in a lungful of air and releases it in an exhaustive sigh. "It feels complicated."

Aang takes off his shirt, muscles flexing as he twists it over his head and onto the floor. He flops back down onto his belly and wiggles his hips. Is he nervous or just excited? Does Aang get nervous about stuff like this, or is he too zen?

"C'mon," Aang urges. "I'm ready!"

Zuko runs his hands over his bare back, pausing to feel each vertebrae and stroke the curves of his shoulders. He traces the length of Aang's spine, down to where it gives way to his tailbone and then some. Aang inhales, sharp and sudden as the flame catches the wick. The wax heats and then drips faster, piling up like wet sand on the smooth, unscarred skin on Aang's back.

His entire body jolts under the first splash, before stilling. Zuko watches the wax slip from the lip of the candle and onto Aang's back, shoulders shooting up to his ears. He inhales, toes curling against his feet, soles facing the ceiling. This time Zuko brings the candle closer, so the wax is still hot when it touches him. Aang's arms tighten around the pillow under his chin and he giggles, soft and surprised.

"That tickles."

"It's not supposed to tickle," Zuko huffs.

"Sorry," Aang says, but he doesn't mean it.

Zuko sits the candle on an old plate so he can hunch over and pick at the cooling wax caked on Aang's skin. It cracks apart like hardened lava surrounding a volcano. Aang flinches, releases a whoosh of air, and laughs.

"Is that too much?"

Aang's face is pink, like the skin underneath the layers of wax. He buries his head in his arms, forehead pressed to the sheet. He takes a deep breath and lifts a little. Cobra pose; Aang taught him that last week. He bows his head and drops his weight back to Zuko's bed.

"I think I'm just gonna...lay here for a few more minutes." He breathes out into the comforter. "Do me a favor and pass me my vape?"

Zuko takes a long look at him and laughs. For the first time he's the one with the upper hand. He nicks the little vaporizer from the edge of the bed, where it's precariously close to rolling off the mattress. It's only a little bigger than a ballpoint pen, metallic and smooth in his hands. He passes it to Aang who lifts his head and reaches for it weakly. Zuko smirks.

"Miss your douche flute already?"

Aang brings the little cartridge to his mouth, lips barely closing around the tip. His ribs expand as his cheeks hollow, exhaling thick puffs of smoke that look gold in the artificial light.

"That one's called the Chinese dragon," Aang informs him. "This one is the tornado."

He sucks for a long, long time, until his eyes drift shut and his rib cage inflates like a balloon. When he breathes out, he swirls his arm to create a cyclone with the smoke. Zuko raises an eyebrow, trying not to look impressed.

"You're making the names up as you go."

Aang smiles. "So maybe I am."

Zuko blows out the candle melting on the plate, creating tiny wax formations at the base. Aang rolls onto his back and sits up in one smooth, unhurried motion. He crosses his ankles and rests his head on Zuko's shoulder.

"How do you fit all that smoke in there?"

"Meditation is great for increasing lung capacity."

"I'm sure this is what Gandhi had in mind when he invented it."

"First of all," Aang says. "Gandhi didn't invent meditation, and I know you know that." Zuko rolls his eyes. "Second, this doesn't even have tobacco in it. It just tastes like bubblegum, you should try it." Aang shrugs, and exhales another gust of smoke. "Besides, I'm going on a cleanse next week. It's totally fine. I don't need you to be the kind of boyfriend that worries about me."

"Well too bad," Zuko says, before backpedaling. "Wait. Your my boyfriend?"

"Duh."

Maybe in the end, they never needed to have the talk. Zuko leans down to kiss him and Aang smiles against his lips.

"Now I definitely have to cleanse," Aang teases. "Kidding."


End file.
